Time to Be Self-Central

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Just a quick little note before we dive in to this bi-week's post. We at the Sometimes want to apologize for the unusual 4 week gap in between entries. Our writer (that's me!) had been focused on things that don't happen on computers, and finally got all of that behind him. Our artist (that's Tom!) has been waiting to draw up something new, so with that, let's get back to the action.

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Remember when Galileo got beat up for saying that the Earth revolved around the Sun instead of everything revolving around Pope Roman-name the Fourth? Being a man of science, I would have been quick to have The Lei Man's back in that tussle, but honestly, I think I'm finally starting to understand the position of everyone else.

Tug of World

Not that I'm a particularly selfish or ignorant man, nor have I ever shown a penchant for wailing on nerds, I can just understand - much like those early physicists - being the center of attraction. I hope you appreciate the gravity of that joke.

Double G was, in fact, correct. The planets in this solar system do orbit the Sun and not the Earth. Should have figured, what with the "solar" in the name and all. Anyway, we've accepted this fact and consequently have a much better understanding of pretty much everything. Hell, we set our clocks by it.

Which is actually what I've been waiting to get at for 3 paragraphs now. I've lived in and around the wonderful city of Chicago for a little over nine years. The people are swell, the weather is cooperative for 6 months out of the year, and the Art Institute is free on Thursdays after 5. It's just a great place.

But one thing has always upset me: Why aren't people up in arms about Central Time? You know, that whole thing where we're "an hour behind New York and two hours ahead of L.A."

I have always felt that CST should be what the rest of the timezones orbit around.

Something about the center of things just feels inherently right: The focal point in renaissance art, the fifty yard line on a football field, the spine of a book, and even where they cut your foot long sub. If any or all of these things were shifted slightly to the right, or "east", you wouldn't feel physically comfortable. Observe.

1st and Goal from the 50? Go Carolina Panthers!

Side Pony Girl: Even I think this is nuts

Imagine what it looks like closed.

When you look at a clock, you'll find that 12 is at the top, reigning supreme on everyone else. It's dead center. Having to do everything based on Eastern Time is like having a 1 at the top of your clock - who the hell wants that?

The biggest issue this causes is with confusion as it relates to TV Programming. While the advent of DVR and overall maturity may curb this problem for others, I'm championing the cause for people like me who have neither of those things.

I do appreciate having the last word in "9/8 central," but the time has come to abandon this strange scheduling announcement. Think of it like a bell curve, the meaty part is right in the middle. The central time zone is the everyman, so cater to our needs, and let the outliers do the math. Chicag-0 will be the middle integer.

You said it, brother. (Yeahhhhh!)

If all of this seems like a loose argument veiled in a general superiority complex that I think Chicago is better than New York or Los Angeles, then kudos on your cynicism, because that's totally what it is.

So here's to the bringing The G Man out of house arrest to fight for part two - Heliocentrism: This Time, It's Personal.

Onward to a future where the CST is the BST. In the mean time, the rest of the world can deal with Greenwich.

Clocking out,

Tapan Jones

[Art, as always, by Thomas Glass Jr.]

A Chicago Sports Sermon, as Delivered by Reverend Mike

Many people, who probably don't read very much, believe that the world will end on December 21, 2012. They cite some hocus-pocus theory about calendars and planetary alignment and Montezuma's Revenge, but what they've failed to realize is that the planets will align and time as we know it will actually stop on July 1st, 2010, and that all will be right with the world.

The implications of this date have been studied ad nauseum for almost two years now. On this most sacred of days, NBA free agency will begin. And let's make one thing perfectly clear: it will be written that LeBron James is a Chicago Bull.

*amen*

Trumpet blasts will burst forth from the angels in the Basketball Heavens when he inks that new contract. Israel and Palestine will put down their guns and pick up their TiVos, too busy watching The Chosen One throw down in red and black to quarrel. Kim Jong Il will put down his portable, little red button and pick up a tumbler of sweet, sweet Hennessy to enjoy while watching the King. The Second Coming of Our Lord and Savior Michael Jordan will bring peace and contentment to the world as he rampages over the heathen Rondo's and Kobe's en route to 10 straight NBA titles.

*amen!*

With his trusty disciples Rose and Noah at his side, and bringing along his friend Bosh of Toronto, The Chosen One will bring the NBA title back home. Where it belongs. Can I get an amen?!

*Amen!*

Be still, my flock, be still. I need not remind you that on this day we sit in the house Jordan built. O, and where He builds it, they will come. They will follow LeBron to the United Center, and he will thrill those loyal followers by throwing chalk in the air, and by blocking layups against the backboard, and by throwing down tomahawk slams. But make no mistake, friends, there will be lean times as well. He will take threes, and he will miss free throws, and he may even look disinterested at times. But do not lose the faith.

No, friends, do not lose that faith! For LeBron's arrival will come on the heels of a Blackhawks Stanley Cup. It will come on the heels of a magical Jonathan Toews postseason, in which the Hawks will have found their goalie, and after which Patrick Kane will finally shave his mullet! It will come on the heels of a Julius Peppers signing, and, lo, the Bears will have their quarterback! Fathers Urlacher and Briggs will once again roam Soldier Field together, and Chris Harris will be seen laying the wood as once he did in the Super Bowl! And who cares about baseball, really?
The world will be ripe for Chicago's taking, friends. Three teams, and, well, really only two realistic shots at dynasties. But still! The Wayward Bears will rid themselves of the curse of Lovie (*amen*), and they will right themselves shortly, for they have many solid pieces.

The future is bright. Revel in these times, and take nothing for granted. A better decade for Chicago sports may never be seen again.

All donned in jersey-robes.

Thank you, and may Jordan be with you.

*and with you*

Yours in Jordan,
Mike

Hot Dog, We Have A Wiener

After a long, arduous decision process, we here at TCS have sorted through the many impressive entries that were received for our 1st Annual Chicago Sometimes Blog Post Contest.

Let it first be said that every single entry we received was thoroughly enjoyable, and if any of our readers would like to see the following 3 of our favorite entries, either e-mail us at thechicagosometimes@gmail.com, or get in touch with one of our writers in any way you'd like.

Our consolation posts were (in no particular order):

The Deadly Side of Winter Safety by Sean Newlin

Winter Grounds - The Meaning of Life by David Wilson

Christmas Tree Robbery by Maria Pisani

Three great, great posts. Hit us up, and they'll be sent right to your internet-door.

And now the moment you've all been waiting for--I hope you're all imagining the America's Funniest Home Video stage with the spotlights making a venn diagram and the snare drum going off--our winner: Kevin Connors with "'Twas the Night Before Christmas, Chicago."

Enjoy,

TCS

'Twas the Night Before Christmas, Chicago

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

The children were whispering, “I hate Jerry Krause!”

And out on the streets, there wasn’t a scare

‘Cept for Pat Kane who screams, “I paid the fare!”

But back home we wonder what could possibly go wrong

Then we realized who sings this song

Some country artist, or maybe two, or three

Either way, I wouldn’t go see them, not even for free

Finally you decide that it’s time for bed

"Jesus, this scotch is hurting my head"

The house is all set, waiting for St. Nick

But it doesn’t matter ‘cause this Bears team makes you sick

As your head hits the pillow, you sigh with some grief

This Jerry Angelo, he’s quite the thief

But all of a sudden, you hear a crash up above!

You jump to your feet, like it’s your first love

You sprint out the house and look to the sky

And ask yourself, "Who is that guy?"

It looks like some French dude from the IOC

Enraged you yell “Daley and Chicago will shit on your city!”

He scampers away, attempting to hide

But you know he’ll get caught, out on the west side

Back in your bed, you begin to dream

It's the 1990's, and oh what a Bulls team!

"On, Michael! On, Scottie, On Dennis and Toni!"

"And Luc! And Ron! And Phil ain't no phony!"

The night trickles on as you catch some rest

All curled up, in your very own nest

Off in the distance, the skyline glows with pride

Somewhere there’s Matt Forte, shuffling side to side

And then again you wake to a clatter

You run downstairs, not knowing the matter

And there you see him, dusting off his shoe

“Oh my, Santa, is that really you?”

His suit, his beard, they do not seem fake

Damnit, why’d I eat the cookies? What a mistake!

“Yes, son, and I’m happy to say that you made the list

I am here tonight to grant your Christmas wish”

“But Santa," you say, "how could you know?

This city’s sports pain is much more than just show”

“Don’t worry young lad, I know you’re all tired

That’s why tomorrow Lovie AND Vinny'll be fired!”

With that he stood and returned to his sleigh

And then he and his reindeer went on their way

But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,

“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

MERRY CHRISTMAS, CHICAGO…WE DESERVE IT.

Kevin Connors

OH p.s. Tom Glass submitted a ridiculously awesome banner that we will be switching to in the new year. It is a sick work of art that will become an everyday part of the blog.

A Tip For Everyone

Just a heads up folks, this post is not about Michael Jackson. It’s not about his singing, his dancing, or his rocky road (ice cream method) with children. This post is about something that I’ve had it up to internet-here with.

There’s been an ever increasing trend among every single person I know to start becoming awful at taking compliments, and it’s manifesting itself in the worst god damn way. What’s troubling about this, is that most of you know me to be your future angry-man-in-hover-rocking-chair yelling at children about how things were “in my day, you lousy ingrates,” which is fine, because that’s exactly how I’ve tried to fashion the events in my life leading up to that glorious moment. So if I give you a compliment, or make a comment in regards to something you’ve accomplished, just tip your hat to me and say “why thank you, oh kind sir.”

Do not reply in the following manner. Don’t look down and to your left, slightly furrow your brow, lift one side of your mouth, wait 2 seconds, and say in the most dickway possible “…Not really.”

Hey asshole, I’m being nice! I even bought you the hat so you could tip it at me! You never once said thank you, you son of a bitch.

Perfect example. A buddy of mine, who will soon hereafter figure out I’m speaking of him, (yes Ryan), and proceed to bitch at me until eventually working his go to move of “you know what? Tapan? You know what?” told me a story. So one long, very fucking uneventful tale later, the man lets me know that he made one hell of a drive in order to go see this fine lookin’ miss thang. Upon hearing that, I replied in a pride-filled voice by saying, “Damn dude, nice, that’s one hell of a drive.” And that little slut not-really’d me.

What does that accomplish? Not-really’ers of the world, you’re actually asking people to apologize for a compliment? Motherfuckers what the fuck?

On that note I make a plea to all of you. End this madness. Too many people are getting AIDS from your attitude, and really, no one wants AIDS from your attitude. At least the unprotected sex has it’s momentary

pleasure, you’re just rubbing people the wrong way.

So tomorrow when you wake up and hear a compliment, look that person right in the eyes and do the hat tip. Not wearing a hat? Feel free to dig through your neighborhood lost and found, you’d be amazed at the number of “repeat-threepeat” hats people have had the audacity to lose over the last 11 years.

Until next tim…. Oh actually.

For those of you wondering why this post took so long, it’s because Mike Bogart is a selfish man that ignores you folks, and would sooner burn down an orphanage than meet a blog deadline. God, what an asshole.

And now, until next time b’s and g’s (you can figure out which letter is male and which one is female on your own time, it’ll be a fun little game). ,

Tapan Jones